Fable: The Old Kingdom
by Professor Ultima
Summary: This is a chronicle depicting the tales of ancient Albion that are only mentioned in the game series. Rated M for intense violence and suggestive content. Be sure to leave a review after you read!
1. Chapter 1

Fable: The Old Kingdom

Chapter I: The Keeper

The glorious golden sun was setting on both the land of Albion and the life of the guildmaster Nostro as he lay dying in Lychfield Graveyard. Though he felt as though all had forsaken him in his final hours, he was not alone. Standing beside his funeral slab was the tall and ancient form of Scythe, his tattered blue cloak lofting in the breeze as he held a bandaged hand within a bronze metal fist behind his back, watching the dusk settle. He bowed his hairless brown head in respect and admiration for his dying pupil, his veins pulsating faintly, a soft blue glow running through his withered body with the magicks of old coursing through them. Nostro too deeply wounded to speak, the Immortal kept silent vigil as though to create an air of equality betwixt them.

Instead, Scythe only thought, pondered of what to do, with this broken titan. He felt a sense of pity, of relation, as he realized how powerful Nostro was, how strong he had learnt to be but how subversive and corrupt a fate had befallen him. A man, who had brought order to the Dark Ages, built the Heroes Guild from the ground up and yet his trusted attendant, who slipped toxins of all sorts into his food, had poisoned him after showing such loyalty!

Breathing inward deeply, the Will running through him began to generate a slow hum as Scythe delved into what was to come, thinking of a way to place his pupil in the quilt that was fate after death, for no amount of Heroic blood or power could pull him back to life whole once more. He pieced a passage together that, centuries later, would house a prison, where his own blood would be kept. Scythe then approached the slab, Nostro shivering and paled as the life drained from him.

His deep voice might have been labeled villainous or sinister, but Nostro knew that the immortal was anything but. It emitted from Scythe as he knelt down besides his student's soon-to-be resting place and laid his plated gauntlet upon the guild-master's chest, beginning their rites of Heroic passing. "What has caused your fall?" the wizened immortal inquired. Corruption, Nostro thought. He knew Scythe could sense it and it sufficed, as it would have been a clear voice. "What are your duties in life?" To unify, to protect, to serve, he responded in his mind. "What are your duties in death?" To rest, for I am a Hero and I have brought peace. "Good, my student. Pride fills me to the greatest apex; you have done much to fulfill what was ordained in the favor of order. Now, your rest will be great but, mind you, I have another task for you much later." Nostro questioned within his mind, willing to take any burden necessary.

A warm azure glow spilled from the metal claw as Scythe raised it from his pupil's chest. "You shall be bound to this cemetery, a Keeper of the way. Your equipment will be scattered and whoever returns it shall be given the passage to the Prison. Do you accept, my student?" Yes, master. I will test those who wish to pass.

"Good…Now rest, Nostro: You of all people have earned it." The magic and binding glow ceased, and Nostro had let forth his last breath, passing beyond the living with acceptance.

A matter of time after casting about his pupil's armor and blade, Scythe then departed, disappearing into the world once more but not before reminiscing of how he and his student were so alike: One would not have believed that they had claimed greatness in centuries past but they triumphed against all odds. This dwelling in his past caused Scythe to return, standing still upon a vast cliff and overlooking the land, as he slipped into his memory into the land of Albion before it was, returning to his days as William Black and his only enemy being the tyrannical Court.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter II: The Court

There was once a time where the whole of Albion was only a solid plain, ripe with fields of golden wheat and small settlements scattered about where humans thrived on simple life, living and dying in peace. This prosperity did not last, however, when a group of entities known as The Court made their entrance into the Mortal Realm.

Timothy Gray looked out over the vast horizon, as he sensed something upon the wind: it had picked up rather violently, bending the stalks of grain to a violent extent as dark clouds began to coalesce northward. The shrewd mayor of Stoneplace's stomach rattled with a sense of unease, as the thick ominous bodies seemed sentient in their approach towards his "town". As he stood with worry towards the approaching storm, others in the town were too careless to even notice, but one was hard at work unlike the lecherous rest.

Smith Black toiled in the dark space of his forge, bending the burning iron with his mighty hammer, striking with vigor as the red-hot metal took the form of a chain ring. Grinning with satisfaction, he plunged the piece into a vat of icy water his son had gathered from the nearby lake. His father's hulking form well at work, young William Black watched in awe as, with slight effort, the adamant metal was formed into a pleasing shape just on a whim. William was by no means as large as his father but he still had great strength for a boy of only ten winters and in addition, his mind was keener than many adults', but his greatest quality came from the fact that he held power no other man could boast.

Will's appearance was curious in that his veins took on a luminous appearance, like the blue of the neighboring lake and they glowed brighter whenever he strained himself. The first time William had committed such a strain was when another child poked fun at him for enjoying the simpler things of nature and pushed him onto the ground. William, in retaliation, responded by pushing back as he reached his feet but the result was what none expected: the bully was tossed three meters away, through the wall of his own house as if blown away by a powerful gust of wind. Many in Stoneplace responded in fear towards the event but soon, as he used his abilities to defend the town from creatures of great size that felled even the greatest fighters, he became heralded as their hero and his mastery over such forces became known far and wide as "The powers of Will".

Smith exhaled as he chuckled, putting his tongs and hammer aside as he turned around to see his son. He blinked in surprise at the sight but smiled warmly on the rebound. "How long have you been there, son?" he inquired in an amused tone as young Will shrugged.

"Oh…a while," he smiled back, his long ebony hair nearly shadowing his eyes. The elder Black leaned down to meet his son face-to-face, though it was difficult due to his great height, and ruffled the mop of hair with a giant hand. "Looks like someone needs a cut, eh Lad?" At this, Will chuckled. His father was one to talk about that need: what with his haggard beard and shaggy brow. Jokingly, Smith drew up to full height and reached for the hilt of a finished short-sword to "do the job", at which Will laughed even harder. They had both shared a bond that no ordinary family could, seeing as Smith had to raise young William by himself, his wife having died during Will's birth.

Though it brought him great sadness that the boy may live an incomplete life, Will seemed like he would not even need both parents: He was mature for a boy his age, and smart enough to be the head of his very own house. Still, Smith did his best to be a good figure for the boy, praising him for his good deeds and reprimanding him for his bad ones, though they were very few. Smith placed the blade back in its sheath and started to say he was about to start supper when the alarm bell in the village center was being rung frantically. At this, the mammoth forge-master grabbed his favorite weapon from the rack: a gleaming longsword and rushed out of the shack, young William following a distance behind.

The commotion of the alerting bell brought the attention of everyone in the settlement, the people stepping out of their huts to find out what the problem was, which had taken the form of three strangers at the entrance of the village conversing with the mayor. Being second-in-command, Smith Black went up to assist Timothy with the situation. William stayed back with the other children as his father walked forth, but even the giant of a man could not shake the feeling of dread sink into his heart.

The newcomers were all three of them very tall and garbed in a bloody crimson fashion. The one on the left was sheltered completely in metal, and was even a head taller and bulkier then Smith. His gore-red armor was adorned by strange markings carved into it, a large black cloak draped over his broad shoulders and a wreath of curved daggers around his neck like a necklace. His helmet was designed to resemble the fabled dog-beasts of the Northforest, which turned a man into one of their own form from a single bite. Its carved amber eyes flashed above the mouth-visor as a voice dark and hollow as an abyss poured from it, sending a chill down the spine of those that had the misfortune of hearing it. "I…am the Knight of Blades."

The one standing to the right from center was roguish in appearance; a haunting ivory mask obscured his face as a hood of the deepest red covered his shoulders and head, tapering off at the middle of his back. The mask, with outlandish characters painted upon it, was without a mouth or nose part, only revealing the malevolent orange eyes of the figure, not unlike those of a predatory cat. Black mail covered the rest of his body, the boots curving upward at the toes like a jester's shoes as several belts strapped across the torso, holding in them dirks, daggers, stilettos and various small blades of which the belts held dozens. A sinister, purposeful voice came from this one as his luminous eyes squinted slightly, holding a clawed gauntlet to his chest. "I am the Jack of Blades."

The central figure towered over the other two and possessed a shape that was vaguely female. It wore elaborate robes that flowed in the breeze, the arms ending in curved claws. An imposing structure surrounded its neck: a raised collar around the base of its head with bone spikes reaching up out of the top. Encircled around its gaunt body were chains that bore bleached human skulls. Like the Jack, this one wore not only a similar mask but also a regal crown of bronze that capped long bloodstained black hair. The eyes of brilliant topaz peered out and gripped the souls of all those around as multiple entities began speaking as one, white lights residing in the many skulls' empty eye sockets as they seemed to share their wearer's authoritative and empirical voice. "I am the Queen of Blades and WE are The Court. We hail from the Realm of Shadows to claim this one and all mortals shall bow before us…or be destroyed."

Gray gulped as his brow creased with worry and disdain as he shook at the "Court's" voices and appearances. Though a severe man, he was by no means a courageous one, unlike Smith Black and Anton Red, the portly butcher who was also a town official. A man who had seen and smelt blood for a living, Red could not help but reel at the overpowered stench of gore and death that lingered upon the three outsiders. While the rest of the village was paralyzed for a long moment, the mayor cleared his throat and put on a cowed smile, at which points all eyes began fixated on him.

"N-now, let us be reasonable here. P…please, allow me to be the first to welcome you to our quiet little town of Stoneplace. As mayor, however, I sp-speak for my people when I say we are right to control ourselves…we don't need outside assistance." The foreboding voices of the Queen suddenly emanated from her in response, sterner than it had been before. "It was not a suggestion, insect. You WILL bow or suffer our wrath."

For most of the children, they could not see, much less hear, the newcomers or their parents as they converse. The only exception was William as he used his mind's strength to project his senses. Close to him in the throng of unaware children were his two best friends; Cyrus Red, the butcher's son, and Jessica Gray, the mayor's daughter. Though she was worried, the pretty little offspring of Stoneplace was certain her father could take hold of the situation. "What are they, Will? Outlaws? If they are, my dad can chase them off in a heartbeat! What's he saying to them?" Young Will, with his eyes shut tightly, spoke slowly as if in dawning thought. "They aren't raiders…One of them looks like a wizard or something, another a thief and the third a mountain of metal…your dad's scared. Everyone up there is…. But I can't feel anything from those three…it's like they're empty of any feeling." And it was true; no emotion, or sensation spilt forth from them in his mind's eye, save for a feel of unholy cold that gripped Will's very soul. "Wait…Cyrus, your dad and mine are making a move."

William's huge father and Cyrus' stocky one moved in front of the mayor as they bared their sharp weapons in warning. Smith's face was molded into a fierce scowl, his white teeth gleaming in his beard as he gripped the hilt of his blade as he spoke in a menacing growl. "You can take your order and shove it, lady." What happened next, not a soul alive could have predicted.

The Jack moved for the mayor and kicked the giant forge-master in the knees, causing him to bow and be stunned, as the Knight bowled Anton over with a single push of his massive plated gauntlet. As the roguish being placed his clawed hand upon Gray's back, his other hand closed in a fist as a stream of shadow appeared in it and took the form of a bizarre, almost organic-appearing weapon. The Sword was split down the middle slightly, bisecting the actual blade into two fearsome and equally deadly edges. Hanging over the crosstree was a red cloth upon a hilt that was bound in a leathery substance. Few could take in the macabre beauty of the sword before it was thrust through Mayor Gray's chest straight through as if passing through a thin veil. A gasp of despair rang through the crowd as the Jack did not stop at simply impaling but continued to sadistically rip down the mayor's torso and pulling the lodged Sword out at Gray's gut, disemboweling him messily as he fell over, slain viciously in a matter of moments.

The butcher of Stoneplace scrambled to reach his feet and his cleaver but was met by the Knight's approaching steps instead. Anton looked up and pleaded, begged for mercy, to no avail as the Knight's mammoth crimson boot was brought down upon Anton's belly, splintering his ribs and causing the tips of shattered bone to jut out the sides. Though none could tell, the armored figure was immensely enjoying the blood-chilling screams of his victim as he writhed in unbearable pain, but though he took great fun in the human's suffering, he formed a otherworldly great axe in his hands, slamming it down with finality as Anton's head spun off through the crowd to the children's feet after being cut from its broken body.

Panic shook the villagers as he screamed and began to flee into their homes. In the chaos, the three children in the far back only stood as Cyrus began to weep for his executed father. Seeing the mayor's prostrate and eviscerated body from afar, Jessica shrieked in both horror and sadness. William only stood, paralyzed, as he saw the Court with his own eyes, frozen with dread but blazing with hatred as the Queen approached his delayed father slowly.

As Smith Black reached his feet, he was gripped as The Queen raised a claw-like finger, him rising up above the ground as she lifted up her arm leisurely. In her left hand, an ebony cutlass with a serpentine blade began to take form, her eyes narrowing maliciously behind the ivory mask as her voices rang out, while he attempted to struggle but had no control over his own body. "You worms were not the first to resist us…but you shall definitely be the last. You have opposed our will and as such have brought a lifetime of torment for your children…and their children to come." She opened the controlling hand, causing Smith to fly into its grasp while clutching his throat, as her blade stood primed to the side.

"Your agony shall be swift, however." His jaws clamped by magic, he could not scream in protest as he was twisted around or scream in pain as her blade sliced across his back and slicing him in half just above the waist. She released her hold as his body fell into two upon the ground, his flowing blood clashing with the verdant grass below him. His overdue cries of anguish released as he called for William, who was as a statue, his eyes wide and glossy at the sight of his dying father. Though at first hesitant, William moved to the elder Black, as he was only seconds away from death. His voice nearly silent, Smith looked to his son through pained eyes, like a sick animal. "S…Son…" Will, who had not cried in so long, allowed the tears to flow without end, to which Smith bore a weak smile and continued. "You…you've made me proud. Don't let them break you…or anyone else." As Smith's breathing ceased, William heeded his words in mournful silence as he placed his head upon his father's now-still chest as he sobbed quietly.

The black clouds had consumed the entirety of the blue sky, crushing all hope as it unleashed its terrible storm-song that bore no rain, but only lightning. As it struck the land, the plains burned in a matter of moments and even scarred deeper into the ground, causing it to blacken from the infernal ire of Albion's new masters. As doom settled in the hearts of its entire people from the ravages of the storm, they had finally resigned their pride and bowed to The Court.


	3. Chapter 3

(AN: Surprise update! The third and final part of this chapter will be updated by next Wednesday. In the meantime, enjoy this and the other until then!)

Chapter III (Part 1): The Son Of Black

Since the Court had rendered judgment upon the land of Albion and its people, the evil entities hailing from the Void had proclaimed absolute and tortuous rule over the mortal realm. Eight sunless summers and snow-less winters had passed before a young man with extraordinary potential finally sought revenge and would rise up against the tyrants in order to seek it to become a hero in the eyes of his common folk and himself.

The smoke from the day the Great Plains had burned had still lingered in the sky, extinguishing all life and all hope for the oppressed people of Albion. The only thing that came close to the clouds of pure darkness was the omnipresent peak of Mount Ruon, a true colossus of a land formation that the Court had seen fit to call their "citadel". Little did they know, however, was that their dark haven would soon be breached.

Will Black was tired, to say the very least, and not just physically. Though it does seem a daunting task to sneak past the legions of abominations spawned by the Void to protect their masters' domain, and especially when one has to account for another to tag along (the less-then-courageous Cyrus Red), the young man was far more fatigued mentally. He was eternally scorned at what The Court had done to his people, his world, his father...and with Smith Black's alloyed blade in hand, he intended to exact the vengeance that had been growing within him for eight years.

Cracking open the massive steel doors leading crafted into the side of Ruon's peak, Will peered within to the barely lit sanctum and noted there were no sentries about, to which he motioned for Cyrus to follow him within while he parted the doors enough for their entry. Stepping fully within, they had both pulled the hoods of their cloaks off to rest against the back of their necks while they looked around.

Will had grown well, form tall and lean within his armor of black chain and grey plate, the striations of glowing blue very much present through the dark hued rings of mail as they streaked down his body's entirety from resting on his face alone like they had in childhood; they were a manifestation of the power he had trained within himself all of those years, the ability to control and weave the immaterial as both defense and weapon alike.

Cyrus, both small and wiry even for his age just a bit behind Will's, had maintained a stable hold on the twin daggers he had possessed in either hand as he looked around cautiously. With unbound anxiety, he flipped them through his fingers one at a time, skillful yet careful, whilst his eyes darted all about the large entry chamber alertly.

As they walked, weapons in their hands and at the ready, they glanced about while they traveled down the long dim hallway, a feeling of despair pressing down upon the both of them as they moved cautiously.

Upon reaching the next chamber, they were greeted by another circular room like the one prior, only this time it was far from empty. Before the two mortal men were row upon row of Wardog minions, clad in their jackal headed armor while emitting an aura of corruption created from their demonic nature. Only after a few moments did one of the creatures gaze upon Will, gesturing with a long chipped claw for the others to notice.

Almost thirty strong, they all started to snarl from behind the as they reached to their hips, gripping a fearsome assortment of weapons; flails with bits of sharpened bone, tethered by lines of sinew, hammers with screaming skulls that appeared to have been dotted with spikes and dipped in a strange black metal, large blood-encrusted cleavers and even a collection of human spine with a leather grip affixed near the base like an intimidating lash.

Gripping both hands upon the hilt of his sire's blade, Will nodded over his shoulder to the now-trembling Cyrus, who whimpered before finding his place a good ways back into the hallway behind them to hide. After a stare-down of the feral, twitching demons, with his own demeanor unflinching and his gaze still dead-set on the throng of void-spawn, they charged him, almost trampling over each other to maul the intruder that meant the most ill will to their Masters.

Only striding forward, Will met them with an almost casual sweep in front of him, the shimmering platinum blade igniting in gold flame as it met the side of a Wardog's head, cleaving straight through the beast's and three others' heads within the motion. The son of Black, then sliced hard the opposite way and then the way opposing the previous, cutting a swath through the middle at a nonchalant pace, weaving and leaning only slightly to evade the maces, blades and spine-whips and responding by delivering a slash to whomsoever struck at him last.

Once Will had reached the middle of the evil rabble, he slammed the pommel of his sword downwards into the ground, a distorted sound emanating from him as the invisible space around him rippled and created a momentary dome exploding outwards from his crouching body, as the minions were flung out all around him into the air and finally ending their flight with a loud crashing into each of the room's walls, armor splintering from the immense force by which they sailed.

Upon meeting ground, many lay slain while very few others remained crippled, backs severed and shattered while they writhed helplessly and whined painfully. Will slowly rose, smirking with satisfaction, but dropped the expression as another noise echoed through the chamber: the sound of armored gauntlets. Turning his head to the sound, he noticed that a structure had materialized towards the other side of the cavernous room out of a chaotic mist of black and red; a collection of three regal yet gory thrones, embellished with sheets of both gossamer and human flesh with bone lattices to support the black metal constructs.

In the center-most and the tallest was the Queen of Blades idly clapping her fearsome yet elegant claws, still as terrible as Will had remembered her to be the day his father was run through right before him. On either side was a roost for the Knight and Jack of Blades respectively, the former having risen from his throne and had descending off of the steeple leading to the granite floor off of the obsidian steel to be on the same plane as Will. The latter, however, was holding a chain affixed to a heavy spiked collar. The restraint had been placed around the neck of a woman, with emaciated body and tortured violet eyes. Face now beautiful rather then pretty, Will froze as he recognized the visage of Jessica Grey, his childhood friend and secret affection.

"Braaavo, child...You have come this far and have done away with most of our minion reserves," The Queen echoed, the overlapping voices emanating from the Queen's skull jewelry assuming a mocking tone as the Knight had held out a massive gauntlet, fingers splayed as his axe had slowly assembled itself from the void after being culled. As its form was full, he closed his fingers to grip the large weapon while standing confidently before the human with its bloody cloak draped over his free arm.

"Of course...It is the farthest you will ever come, Son of Black...Your war against the Court ends now!" There was an element of aggression that was not a common occurrence within the Queen's voices, their flanging tones almost a malevolent shout. As she finishes, a bloodthirsty roar explodes from within the Knight's visor, both hands reaching to his weapon and hoisting it over his helmet with the intent on splitting the smaller man in two down the middle.

Will simply raised his sword to meet the massive head of the opposing weapon. Surprisingly, the man-made weapon yields not to the unnatural cleaver, yet as they meet, his father's blade began to vibrantly glow, sapphire light slowly growing from the hilt and up the sword while the Knight forces and struggles to break their lock. Will gives not even an inch to his assailant as his sword becomes completely alight with the blinding azure.

As the pinnacle of energy is reached, the Knight's axe explodes in a flash of blue, causing him to stumble. His deep, hollow voice soon began to shudder helplessly, raising his large armored hands in defense as Will tightened his grip on the sapphire sword and pounced forward, blade tucked under his arm to prepare for a powerful swing as he sailed through the air at his target.

Sword's brunt meeting fortress-like armor, it sliced effortlessly through the Knight's cuirass, yet left the blue energy streaked across the red of his plate. The Knight let out an ensemble of sounds, first of confusion, then of surprise and finally of pain as the bolt of sapphire essence strewn across his massive torso shot out upwards through the mountain's roof to the heavens above, even through the despairing black clouds before slamming back down with terrible force in a blinding deep blue pillar, freezing the man-thing in place and then crushing down while his fearsome armor merely evaporated in the column of power.

Soon after, the pillar dispels into small particles, wisps of blue glow that faded into nothingness soon after while the Knight was no more, leaving only a skeletal, shriveled shadow behind and prone against the floor. Its raspy breath echoing out all around, it attempted to crawl further back onto the throne of its kin, beady red eyes looking up to the Queen as if to receive mercy from the most terrible of tyrants to which the Queen shook her head and boomed out with her multiple voices once more, skulls' jaws hanging open as they emitted their words. "You have failed, Knight...Rest well in oblivion, and know that your service were cherished by your Queen and King."

The thrones then disappeared beneath the miserable creature, which had mournfully moaned out in response to being both defeated and forsaken before turning onto its back to leer over to the victor and his tag-along, who had just now returned from hiding with both daggers in hand and glared at the shade with vengeful intent. Will, glancing at the next doorway further into Mount Ruon, then stared to the defeated Knight. "Have fun, Cyrus...I'm going to save Jessica, and end this nightmare," the young Hero had said before dashing through to the next hallway over.


End file.
